TO THE RESCUE
There was a gasp of horror from the boys as they saw the three forms struggling in the water amid the débris of the shattered rowboat.
“They’ll be drowned!” shouted Bob, in an agony of apprehension.
“If they can only keep afloat until the motor boat picks them up,” ejaculated Joe.
But to the consternation of the boys they saw that the motor boat occupants had no intention of going to the rescue. It was not that the men on the boat were not aware of the damage they had done. The boys could see the figures of two men looking backward from the stern towards the people struggling in the waves. But there was no halting of the speed of the craft and it kept on like an arrow, as though it were a criminal bent only on getting away from the scene of his crime.
A cry broke from the boys when this conviction was forced upon them. They clenched their 20 fists and shook them toward the retreating craft, while fierce exclamations broke from their lips.
But there was no time for indulging in vain objurgations. Bob as usual took the lead.
“Come along, fellows!” he shouted, as he set off like a deer towards a rowboat that was pulled up on the beach. “We’ve got to save those people, and every second counts. Hustle’s the word!”
His companions were close on his heels, and without loss of time they had reached the boat. In it were two pairs of oars. They pushed the boat down the shelving beach into the surf and jumped aboard.
“Each one take an oar,” commanded Bob. “Now pull, fellows, with all your strength. Don’t mind about the steering. I’ll tend to that. Pull! Pull!”